Prompt Collection
by Zaxarus
Summary: In this "story" i'll collect my weekly prompts, most being about Zevran. Each chapter will be standing alone, possible sequels will be marked as such.
1. Chapter 1 Zevran Crossover

_This won't be a real story but a collection of weekly prompts, mostly about Zevran. Each chapter stands for itself._

**Once upon a Crossover**

Silence drowned all activity on the street. Fear forced the villagers to stay in their houses, the women shielding their children, the men holding spears and treshing-flails in their trembling hands, hoping that they would not have to fight themselves.

_All set at the south, Zevran?_ Kambei asked the slim swordmaster with his stony face not exposing his own concerns. He tugged away the last pieces of the rice-cakes one of the peasant wives brought to him and reached a small bottle to Zevran.

_Yes, barricades are ready. They can be pushed on the street in short time. Nemain prepared a square of them for catching a handful of the bandits before stopping the rest. _Zevran took a small sip of the sake, the alcohol burning in his stomach fueling his energy.

Even Kambei had to smile, thinking about the stout warrioress. Having only been able to muster 5 companions for the defense of the village, it had in part been his wish to reach the lucky number 7 to allow her to partake. But in the short time since then she had been able to prove her usefulness, her kill counter only topped by Zevran.

_Be careful. Don't let in too many of the bandits at a time. There are too many of them, we can't afford more deaths on our side_. In silence they thought about Gorobei, the archer having been killed in the first fight, the eight bandit corpses not enough to compensate the loss. At last Zevran broke the silence. _How could I do this? Careful? You know Nemain's temper. I'll have enough to handle with restraining her from attacking the bandits outright. Have you seen her face after we detected those mistreated women in the bandits' camp?_

Kambei nodded in agreement, his leather armor squeaking. _I remember. Hate I saw. And guilt for not being able to save them earlier. You have to look after her, Zevran. I can't spare another man for the south, you two must hold out long enough. Watch her back when she rushes to attack_.

_Watch her back, I think I can do this_, Zevran answered with a smirk.

_I'm sure you are_. Kambei was hard pressed not to smile. The growing feelings had been obviously in the past days. An unusual pair they were. Nemain, being born into a good family, her stout and graceless body even so not allowing her an adequate wedding as her temper did. And Zevran, born into a low standing, reared up to be a deadly ninja as far as Kambei assumed, but now a Ronin as they all were. Both deadly with their swords but with different temper and fighting styles, Zevran the scorpion waiting in patience, ready to strike with his Katana as fast as lightning and Nemain remembering on an angry bear, charging forward and slicing any living enemy with her two-handed No-Daichi.

_The sign_. Zevran pointed to a near hill, where a younger peasant's son was stationed. Giving Kambei a last nod he hurried back to the south were Nemain was already nervously waiting for him, anxious to fight. _There you are. I feared you would miss the fun_. Zevran smiled back. _You mean, you "hoped" I would miss the fun_. Nemain made a few testing strikes thru the air with her weapon. _May be_.

Zevran liked to watch her. She was not nearly as graceful as the Geishas he had known back in Kyoto and he would anticipate a tea ceremony with her to be a complete disaster. Unmarriageable, that her family surely thought about her, Nemain seldom speaking of the past. Gorgeous, he would describe her. Feeling his gaze upon her, Nemain gave a sly smile. Not knowing if he survived the next hour, Zevran allowed her to surprise him with what be a fast movement for Nemain. She grabbed him, pulled his face to hers and gave him an intense kiss. In his mind Zevran saw her parents faint to the floor if they would have seen this behavior, not nearly befitting a well-educated lady.

The clattering of hooves called them back to the present. Eight, ten, thirteen bandits Zevran made a quick count, on horses with a wild array of rags and leather armor, some with helms, wearing mostly swords stolen form the battlefields around, two with bows. Too his relief none of the bandits had a firearm. Yelling loudly, more to inspire braveness to themselves than frightening anyone, they followed the fence around the village, riding thru the rice fields, spoiling the crops.

_We let four of them pass, then we push the barricade on the street_. Zevran pressed, while he ran to the hideout. _Eight_, Nemain responded. _Six_, Zevran cursed, pulling Nemain down out of sight.

The clattering neared, the first rider passed, spreading the odor of cheap booze. From the north the noises of battle erupted, cries, clashing of swords, the thunder of a single firearm. Four, five, six, Zevran counted with his fingers to Nemain, sprang up and pushed the wagon with all might. With a blood-curling yell Nemain followed, shying away the following horses, then helped Zevran to push the wagon-barricade in place. The passed riders in the meantime realized that there were further obstacles on all paths, pulling their horses around.

With flashing strikes of her No-Daichi Nemain jumped between the horses, stabbing and striking, yelling and shooing. Zevran knew that Nemain later would cry bitter tears about this, injuring and killing horses to frighten them, unsaddle their riders, trample them to death. But it was the only way they could hope to win against them.

He held back, leaving the filed to her merciless blade and watched. With a lightning-fast movement and precise stab he finished one of the riders who tried to get behind Nemain. In seconds Zevran was out of range again, eying for the rest of the group. Some of them dismounted to push the wagon away. Nemain seemed secure, most bandits of the first group dead or lying injured on the ground. So he rushed to the wagon, killed two of the bandits before they realized his appearance. Cursing the three riders warned their last two comrades, one of the riders pulling his bow but waiting for a better sight for a sure shot.

Left, right, left, right. Zevran remembered his sword training lessons in Kyoto, only then being stacked against four or five enemies, these two bandits being only playing children in comparison. In the second he cut the second down, something crashed against his back, knocking him to the floor, yelping in pain. Zevran recognized Nemain's voice, turned around to see the arrow in her lower back, the warrioress shouting a curse she only learned days ago from Zevran. In spite of the circumstances Zevran had to smile and press a short kiss on her lips before he jumped up and attacked the last three bandits with a battlecry …

Silence laid over the village anew. The silence of death. Slowly the first villagers showed their faces, not believing that the fight was over, the battle was won. More than thirty killed bandits disseminated all around the streets, the last being killed by angry villagers, trashed to death while trying to flee. All the fear, the rage, the despair searched for a way to release. The last samurai watched in tired silence. From the northern fight only Kambei and Shichiroji survived, Kyuzo being shot by a bullet and Kikuchiyo dying from countless wounds.

While the villagers began to believe their luck, to cry in delight and dance on the streets, Kambei couldn't feel real joy, seeing only the faces of his dead comrades. _Only the peasants have won. The swordsmen lost, lost as always we do. _

_No. This time at least some of us won, too. _With a broad smile Shichiroji pointed to Zevran and Nemain, the two Ronin continuing their kiss as if they were all alone.

_PS: I hope it is recognizable that it should be a 7-Samurai-Crossover. _


	2. Chapter 2 Zevran's decision to live

_**Decision to live**_

_Prompt: Zevran's first night (after joining the group)_

Prompts: 1 Time: 116min

The ropes hold tight, leaving only enough space for Zevran to draw breath comfortable. The knots had been fastened with some skill from this red-haired woman … Leliana her name … and the elf wasn't sure that he could escape even if he tried. Blanking out the voices around Zevran thought back about the last hours.

The fight against the warden's group hadn't gone well from the start, not that he had anticipated otherwise. This giant Qunari made short work of his thugs while Leliana killed his mage with her arrows before she could be of any use.

As Zevran accepted this contract, he fully expected to lose, to die in a glorious fight against a fabled grey warden. Only that it hadn't been glorious at all. Charging him like a bull with bloodshot eyes this small, broad-faced dwarven woman attacked him without fear or pause, giving him no time to find a good fighting stance, blocked his attacks and responded with a vicious strike of her shield, smashing it into his face, breaking his nose and sending him into unconsciousness.

The pain in his face awakened him some times later, being bound and carried by the Qunari. Zevran felt like a child, the giant not breathing more strained than without his burden. Following the Qunari the dwarf … Nemain … spoke with the warrior of her group, another warden as Zevran knew. This Alistair eyed him with suspicion and tried to persuade Nemain to kill him.

As he never expected to awake after being defeated, to his own surprise Zevran wasn't sure about his wish to die now. It had been a long time since someone bested him in combats this easily. This combination of strength and agility in Nemain … it would be an experience to repeat the duel. Now better able to estimate her skills, he certainly would fare better. But even then Zevran wasn't sure if he could beat her. His eyes wandering over her body, the broad shoulder, the muscular frame, the heavy bosom … Zevran stopped his thoughts. What has her bosom to do with her fighting skills?

As if she could read his thoughts Nemain smirked at him, reminding Zevran of how openly he had glared at her the last minutes.

_He can't be trusted. Let us kill him; he would have done the same_. Alistair repeated his demand. Nemain shook her head, her ponytail whirling around. _I want to interrogate him first. Sten? We make a stop over there._

Leliana and Nemain gave him no chance to escape, as they searched his belongings, stripped him nearly naked and bound him to a tree. The red-haired woman seemed to be amused, giggling from time to time, her gaze wandering about his naked body, the look of a playful and a bit cruel cat in her eyes. Nemain on the other hand seemed more concerned about his scars, witnesses of his former life. Her thick fingers followed a scar on Zevran's shoulder and the compassion in her face touched something deep in Zevran's heart. It scared him, reminded him of some other moments not so long ago, a feeling which led to much grief and pain. The slender face, the pointy ears …

Thick fingers reached into his face and before Zevran could react a sharp pain streaked thru him. He clenched his teeth, suppressed a yell. After a while the pain subsided. _We don't want you to suffocate from your broken nose._ It had been the first sentence she spoke directly at him. Zevran blinked the tears in his eyes away, stared at her, unsure how to respond. Feeling the glare he looked over to Alistair, the warrior staring at him with a mix of disgust, suspect and hate. Involuntary a smile crossed his lips. Surely it was not the first man reacting this way, feeling threatened by the interest of his woman to Zevran.

Curiously he inspected them. Alistair had this aura of a virgin around him, these movements of being a man on not yet a full man. He seemed to have feelings about Nemain, but Zevran was sure that they hadn't spent a night together. Nemain on the other hand was fully aware of her womanhood, the impression she made on others. Gorgeous, that word described her best, Zevran mused. That her eyes expressed much more compassion than desire unsettled him a bit and to his surprise he felt frustrated.

Zevran was sure he could tease Alistair enough to get killed, but … did he want it? Hours before he would have answered with a firmly yes, but now …

_What shall we do with you?_ Nemain asked with low voice. _Alistair wants to kill you; Leliana has other vicious things in mind._ A cruel smirk crossed Leliana's face, followed by a short giggle_. I want some answers from you. Since I'm no friend of torture, it is your decision what you want to say. But be assured that I would kill you if I'm not impressed by your sincerity. Think about it and make your choice._

Nemain watched him closely, waiting with the patience of her people for Zevran's answer. The elf tried to read her mind. Determination he saw in her face. She would really kill him if he decided not to cooperate. But also there was something other. Hope. Hope that he would chose to live, chose to answer her questions. And this hope had nothing to do with the worth of his information, but with him. She was not a cold-blooded killer. Yes, she would kill, but she would hate it.

What would be his options? He could go thru with his original intent, deny her offer and die. It would all end now, the pain in his heart would subside, and the memory of his cruel treason would fade. Or he could answer her truthfully, reveal what information he had and leave. Live with his past until the crows found and killed him for his failure. Or he could try to start something new. Would Nemain agree to his proposal? Alistair surely would not and the thought of Alistair's anger conjured a smile on Zevran's face. He simply had to try at least.

_Nemain, you want some answers. Perhaps I have a proposal for you that you find agreeable … _


	3. Chapter 3 Sacrifice

For the weekly Zevran prompt: Sacrifice (meaning not the ultimate sacrifice but a sacrifice for love)

**Imrek's revenge**

The face of Owen hovered in Nemain's sluggish thoughts. The smith of Redcliffe stood in the door's frame, his expression one of sadness and despair, as the thugs stormed the little room and clubbed Nemain senseless. And Zevran.

The dwarven warrioress moaned in her half-dream state, her whole body feeling as if an ox cart had been driven over her instead of carrying her. The voyage stopped, furs were torn away, Nemain felt herself dragged from the cart and thrown to the floor. Blindfolded as she was she could only assume her surroundings. Many men, a dozen at least, with metal armor and weapons. Laughter and the smell of booze penetrated the air. Another moan besides her, Zevran was alive at least. A hand tried to secure a rope at her ankle. Nemain kicked him, but other men held her fast. The rope secured they pulled away the blanket around her body and the blindfold.

Blind for a few moments her eyes slowly accustomed to the sudden light. A clearing in a forest, a small trek, nothing she knew. She wore nothing besides handcuffs and the rope around her ankle, the other end strung around a tree. Zevran stood not far away in the same condition. He tried to smile at her and Nemain reciprocated with a look at his genitals and a broad smirk as if she would like the situation.

_Now, what have we here? Isn't it beautiful?_ A knight stepped thru the ranks of the soldiers around, his face vaguely familiar to Nemain. The armor was shiny silver without any dents from former battles, the blond hair well groomed, and the smell of orlaisian soap around him. He smiled but it never reached his eyes, the eyes of a cruel and slightly mad man as Zevran could clearly see.

_I was very pleased as I saw you start your little night excursion. Before that I pondered how I could lay my hands on you both but then_ … he smiled anew, while Nemain shot a glance to Zevran. It had been her idea to spare the night in Owen's shop with the castle full of envoys from the dwarves, dalish, mages and bannorns. It should have been the last night before their journey to Denerim and start the landsmeet. The last night they wanted to spend in intimate togetherness. I had been her fault.

_Loghain will be very happy about my small present. His reward for a living warden is outstanding_. Nemain clenched her teeth. Loghain anew, she should have known, but she felt secure in Redcliffe, especially in Owen's house. _What did your men with Owen, the smith? Is he dead?_ The knight shook his head. _No, was not needed to shed blood. A knife at his daughter's throat and he was more than willing to cooperate_.

The knight went closer to Nemain, stopping closely out of her reach. _But that is not your concern now. We have something to discuss. I'm Ser Amrun. You don't know me, but you have known my brother, Ser Imrek_. Studying Nemain's face and realizing her inability to remember the name, Ser Amrun explained further. _Perhaps you've never known his name, but you've killed him, you and your little pointy-ear._

He signaled and a soldier stepped forward. Nemain remembered him; he had been with the envoy of Loghain, trying to get entrance to Ozrammar as her group arrived weeks before. A furious dispute arose and at the end a fight. With their leader and his mage killed, some of the soldiers fled. At that day Nemain held her companions back, allowed the soldiers to save their life. And now one of them returned to help this knight extract revenge.

_What do you want from us? Kill us?_ Ser Amrun smiled cruelly_. No, that would be too easy. And Loghain wouldn't be happy. He wants to speak with you. But for speaking you only need to live, a tongue and ears. All other parts belong to me_. The cold words send even Zevran a shudder down his back.

_To start the fun I would really like some whipping._ A soldier tossed two whips on the ground before Zevran and Nemain, long horsewhips with narrow leather bands, surely able to cause great pain and cut the skin. _You must be mad. How could you think that we_ … Ser Amrun pulled a knife from his belt. _It is very easy. I want to see 28 lashes from each of you done to the other. And no wussy ones but dealt with full force. You wonder about the number? It is the quantity of your finger bones. For each lash you hold back I cut away a finger bone from the other. It is your decision, you lash or I cut. _

Nemain's thoughts raced, how could she persuade him to … *crack* A sharp pain pulled her out of her puddled mind, a narrow line of blood tracing along her right shoulder. _It is your fault_. *crack* _Always your fault_. *crack* Perplexed Nemain looked at Zevran, the elf talking himself into a rage. *crack* _what you've done in Ozrammar, that you killed the Paragon_. *crack* _the deaths in Redcliffe, in the magi tower_. *crack* _Every time you made stupid decisions_. Line on line of blood and cut skin arose on her shoulders and upper body, numbing her in the pauses only to send a new shower of pain thru it. As if far away herself Nemain pondered about Zevran's behavior, her mind separated from her body which writhed in pain and her voice yelling and moaning in reaction to the hurting stings.

Zevran sooner than her detected the madness in Amrun and reacted accordingly, tried to pull her into rage herself. But she could not give in. Oghren taught her how to draw onto her rage but with 28 full rage lashes she could kill Zevran. *crack* _Fifteen_. The number only partially reached her numb mind. *crack* She scrutinized Zevran's face, the gentle bow of his cheek, tears running freely down the tanned skin. The full lips she often kissed as if dying of thirst, now speaking hurting words never reaching her ears. The hands which so often dealt her delightful pain in their massage hours. *crack* _Twenty._ *crack* Warm emotions run thru her heart, never had she felt closer to Zevran than in these minutes as he forced him to do the madman's will and save her from sharper harm_. Twenty-six_ *crack* _Twenty-seven_ *crack* _Twenty-eight _Nemain wasn't sure that he would see her smile, hear her whispered _I love you_. The whip dropped on the floor, Zevran slumped onto his knees.

Forced frostiness gripped Nemain's heart. She tried not to see Zevran in front of her but some other one. Loghain, Branka, Bhelen. Each face melted away to be replaced by another on while she dealt strike on strike. At last her own face appeared before her inner eye. Row on row of shackled dwarves appeared before the anvil of the void she secured for her people. Every time a dwarf was hammered into a golem, Nemain lashed out, dealing pain to Nemain-Zevran. Her mind was far away, only half recording the counted numbers. *crack* _twenty-eight_. Without thought the arm dropped the whip, no emotion shown on her face as Nemain was led to a blanket to rest for the night.

Someone was pulled to the blanket beside her and thrown down in moans of pain. Nemain needed minutes to draw back from her frozen state, to realize that it was Zevran beside her; the elf nearly unconscious but trying hard to smile_. You see, mi amora, ropes, manacles and whips, all we need for a little night of pleasure_. Nemain dragged Zevran to her, ignoring his or her pain, embraced him and kissed him deeply. Tears flowing from their eyes and blood tickling from their wounds escorted them into their sleep.

00000

A splash of ice-cold water awoke them_. A new day, a new joy_. Numb from the pain all over her body Nemain looked up, Ser Amrun not standing far away. Rays of the sun warmed their bodies, birds were singing, the water from a creek purled. _You have luck. I'm in a very good mood this morning, so I've decided to let this elf run away. May he hide in some filthy hole_. Amrun smiled coldly. _But before there is a last deed to be done. Not allowed to kill you I want a compensation for your murder. And a trophy. Something to look at when I'm at home._ Staring a few moments in the puzzled faces of Nemain and Zevran he pulled his knife and thrust it into the ground in front of them.

_You're both accomplished fighters as I know. So you will fight for the right to keep your hands. The winner decides who will keep his hands and who not. And he has to cut off the right hand of the loser. That will be fun._ Their jaws dropped, all blood escaped their faces. _You must be completely mad. You can't really expect us to_ … Amrun smiled, shaking his head sadly. _No, you can't really expect me to leave you a choice in this. You fight, you cut off a hand. If not I will slowly cut you both to pieces. An ear, an eye, the nose. There so many pieces you don't need._

_Mi amora, I'll have my freedom. I don't need both hands_. In spite of his try to steady his voice Zevran was much shaken. _No, I can switch weapon and shield arm, I don't need a hand for my shield. You need both hands_. Nemain's eyes lingered on Zevran's hands, the fingers which caused so much pleasure to her in the past. Zevran tried to persuade her anew, while an idea shot thru Nemain's head.

_You said the fight decides who will lose his hand, yes? It has not to be the loser's hand?_ Zevran comprehended Nemain's idea long before Amrun and went to attack the dwarf, but this time Nemain expected the move. Solid as a rock she resisted the attack, gripped Zevran and threw him to the ground, her heavy and muscular body pinning him to the earth only split-seconds later. _No, Nemain, no _… a fist like a ham hit him in the face two, three times. Nemain pulled the knife from the earth, forced the grip into the hand of the nearly unconscious elf, gripped his wrist and pulled his hand forward, the knife resting above her own right wrist.

_This will count, Amrun? Promise me that this will count and you will let him go without further plays and anything?_ With eyes full of glee and madness Amrun watched the scene, saliva dropping from his mouth. _Yes, it counts. Do it now_. With wide eyes he stared at Nemain. The warrioress took a deep breath, tightened the grip around Zevran's hand and knife and forcefully cut thru her right wrist. The last she saw was her hand falling to the floor, the last she heard was Zevran's cry.

00000

Had it been hours or days? Nemain didn't know. Half-delirious she laid on the cart now alone. Zevran was gone. One of the guards, his face full of pity, had been compassionate enough to tell her that Amrun held word and released the elf.

Nemain awoke anew, this time from some deep roar. A giant clad in plate armor, a massive greatsword in his hands, furious rage in his face, stormed thru the soldiers, cutting them down like wheat, an especially vicious slash cutting Amrun's head from his shoulders. _Sten?_ It was only a whisper, perhaps even less.

00000

Nemain awoke with a cry full of pain and despair, trashing wildly, pulling apart the tent around her, needing long moments to register it was Zevran who tried to hold her down. _Calm down, mi amora, calm down. You're with me_. With a sob Nemain leaned against his shoulder, embraced him as if her life would depend from it, tears running down her cheeks. Zevran hugged her, padded her shoulder.

Recuperating slowly from the dream Nemain pressed a smile, tried hard to stop the tears. With a weak smile she looked at Zevran, padded his cheek. With horror she stopped the move, looking at her right hand. Or better looked at where should be her right hand, her arm ending in a stump, cloaked in a leather shelve.

The nightmare had only begun.


End file.
